"I havena finished telling ye about it." Dougal pulled the dirk from his belt and began to clean his fingernails with the point. He was a fastidious man, in spite of the difficulties of keeping clean on the road.
"Jamie was slumped in the ropes, with the blood running down and staining his kilt. I dinna think he'd fainted, he was just too wambly to stand for the moment. But just then Captain Randall came down into the yard. I don't know why he'd not been there to begin with; had business that delayed him, perhaps. Anyway, Jamie saw him coming, and had the presence o' mind left to close his eyes and let his head flop, like as if he were unconscious."
Dougal knitted his brows, concentrating fiercely on a recalcitrant hangnail.
"The Captain was fair put out that they'd flogged Jamie already; seems that was a pleasure he'd meant to have for himself. Still, not much to be done about it at the moment. But then he thought to make inquiries about how Jamie came to escape in the first place."
He held up the dirk, examining it for nicks, then began to sharpen the edge against the stone he sat on. "Had several soldiers shaking in their boots before he was done—the man's a way wi' words, I'll say that for him."
"That he has," I said dryly.
The dirk scraped rhythmically against the stone. Every so often, a faint spark leapt from the metal as it struck a rough patch in the rock.
"Weel, in the course of this inquiry, it came out that Jamie'd had the heel of a loaf and a bit of cheese with him when they caught him—taken it along when he went over the wall. Whereupon the Captain thinks for a moment, then smiles a smile I should hate to see on my grandmother's face. He declares that theft bein' a serious offense, the penalty should be commensurate, and sentences Jamie on the spot to another hundred lashes."
I flinched in spite of myself. "That would kill him!"
Dougal nodded. "Aye, that's what the garrison doctor said. He said as he'd permit no such thing; in good conscience, the prisoner must be allowed a week to heal before receiving the second flogging."
"Well, how humanitarian of him," I said. "Good conscience, my aunt Fanny! And what did Captain Randall think of this?"
"He was none too pleased at first, but he reconciled himself. Once he did, the sergeant-major, who knew a real faint when he saw one, had Jamie untied. The lad staggered a bit, but he kept to his feet, and a few of the men there cheered, which didna go ower a treat wi' the Captain. He wasna best pleased when the sergeant picked up Jamie's shirt and handed it back to the lad, either, though it was quite a popular move with the men."
Dougal twisted the blade back and forth, examining it critically. Then he laid it across his knee and gave me a direct look.
"Ye know, lass, it's fairly easy to be brave, sittin' in a warm tavern ower a glass of ale. 'Tis not so easy, squatting in a cold field, wi' musket balls going past your head and heather ticklin' your arse. And it's still less easy when you're standing face to face wi' your enemy, wi' your own blood running down your legs."
"I wouldn't suppose so," I said. I did feel a little faint, in spite of everything. I plunged both hands into the water, letting the dark liquid chill my wrists.
"I did go back to see Randall, later in the week," Dougal said defensively, as though he felt some need to justify the action. "We talked a good bit, and I even offered him compensation—"
"Oh, I am impressed," I murmured, but desisted in the face of his glare. "No, I mean it. It was kind of you. I gather Randall declined your offer, though?"
"Aye, he did. And I still dinna ken why, for I've not found English officers on the whole to be ower-scrupulous when it comes to their purses, and clothes such as the Captain's come a bit dear."
"Perhaps he has—other sources of income," I suggested.
"He does, for a fact," Dougal confirmed, but with a sharp glance at me. "Still…" he hesitated, then proceeded, more slowly.
"I went back, then, to be there for Jamie when he came up again, though there wasna much I could do for him at that point, poor lad."
The second time, Jamie had been the only prisoner up for flogging. The guards had removed his shirt before bringing him out, just after sunup on a cold October morning.
"I could see the lad was dead scairt," said Dougal, "though he was walking by himself and wouldna let the guard touch him. I could see him shaking, as much wi' the cold as wi' nerves, and the gooseflesh thick on his arms and chest, but the sweat was standing on his face as well."